


Diplomatic Relations

by cymbalism



Series: Combat 'Verse [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, Diplomacy, M/M, Oral Sex, Sleepiness, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/pseuds/cymbalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and McCoy discuss interstellar diplomacy. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Relations

McCoy surfaced somewhere close to consciousness when he heard Jim come back from his afternoon class, but he didn't show it. If the kid knew what was good for him, he'd keep the curtains shut and the lights off. Or, better yet, he'd leave. McCoy had been on clinic rotation for an unreasonable number of hours and no man—or, in Jim's case, man-child—was going to stand between him and sleep.

So when Jim lifted the covers and crawled into bed with him, McCoy's first instinct was to dump him back out on his ass. "Goddamn it, Jim! What do you think you're doing?"

Jim held fast at the edge of bed despite McCoy's shoves. "Let me in, Bones. This is important."

McCoy had known having sex with Jim would set a dangerous precedent. Not that he'd call it a mistake—turned out it was too damn good to be a mistake. But he still didn't to want think very hard about all the whys and wherefores, and a few well-timed clinic rotations had so far prevented talking about it, or repeating it. He already had a sinking feeling that Jim was flirting with the idea of fidelity, and McCoy was a long way from sure he wanted to be the one blamed for converting James T. Kirk to monogamy.

Anyway, he could guess where this was going. "Jim, your libido is not more important than my sleep."

"This isn't about me. Well, not only." Jim snuggled closer and McCoy gave up and let him, closing his eyes again and hoping maybe Jim would just talk himself out while he got back to sleep. "This is about you."

McCoy grunted his disbelief, feeling the gentle lap of unconsciousness.

"I was in Interstellar Diplomacy, and the lecture was the standard command track stuff. You know, how to not piss off the aliens: smile but keep your shields up, keep off the grass because it might be sentient, mind your p's and q's no matter what language they're in. It reminded me of you." Jim nuzzled at McCoy's clavicle.

"'The hell you talking about?" Jim was making about as much sense as interstellar diplomacy itself, which wasn't saying much, and it wasn't just because McCoy was three-days tired.

"You and your manners. You remember your manners?" Jim wormed a shoulder into McCoy's armpit, and scooted into place along his side. "That courtly Southern gentleman side you trot out at department parties?"

Jim was warm, and McCoy was exhausted, and both of them still had all their clothes on, so there was a chance this could go his way and he could be back to sleep in minutes. Instead he asked a question. "What does that have to do with you being in my bed?"

"I never properly thanked you," Jim said plainly, stroking McCoy's chest. "For the sex." He nipped at McCoy's earlobe.

" _What_?" McCoy opened his eyes and pulled back his chin enough to give Jim a proper scowl.

Jim didn't notice. "You're really good at it, you know."

"Yeah, fucking you is my hidden talent." McCoy grumbled, then cringed at the ceiling. Dwelling on how much truth there may have been in that wasn't going to do anybody any good.

Jim laughed and slid his palm over McCoy's body, wrist and forearm grazing McCoy's groin on the way to his thigh. He was limp so far but wouldn't be for long if Jim kept that up. Even with arousal on the horizon, his brain still ached for sleep.

"Explain to me what it is you think you're doing, one more time."

"I'm being diplomatic. Keeping tensions low. You have a lot of tension, Bones." His hand was back up at McCoy's shoulder, and he kneaded it to make his point. "And you performed a service that I have not sufficiently reciprocated. To preserve relations between us, the appropriate thing would be to thank you for the orgasm." Jim shimmied lower and his head disappeared under the covers.

McCoy shot upright and kicked away, nearly kneeing Jim in the jaw. "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not your homework."

It was just another stupid ploy on Jim's part, McCoy knew, but he resented the idea that Jim owed him sexual favors—and the undercurrent that McCoy expected them. Whatever was between them, it wasn't _that_.

Blue eyes gleamed at him from between his knees. A slow and dirty smile curled Jim's lips and his voice dropped into husky teasing, "Shut up and let me be nice to you, Bones." He yanked McCoy's hips out from under him, flattening him to the mattress.

There were a lot of reasons McCoy didn't argue.

Jim pulled the covers over them again and made short work of McCoy's drawstring scrubs. He pushed up McCoy's t-shirt and mouthed his way back down, his hot mouth leaving a cool trail. When McCoy leaned up to helpfully shuck his shirt, Jim stole a real kiss. And as their mouths lingered, soft and slick, McCoy felt layers of tension peel away. Jim allowed the kiss for only a few moments before pressing McCoy back down.

His body was officially interested in the proceedings now. Jim encouraged that interest. He slipped a hand into McCoy's boxer briefs—pausing only for a second to fondle—and then slipped them off.

Jim's hands were polite magic. There was no teasing in his touch. He stroked McCoy's thighs, gently raking his blunt fingertips along them. He worked the root of McCoy's erection with one hand, running it between his fingers, while the other cupped his balls. It felt so damn good, McCoy groaned. Jim touched and tasted and touched more. He nuzzled into the joint of McCoy's hip. Lipped the underside of McCoy's dick then gave the crown a quick swirl. Flicked his tongue to sensitive places McCoy wasn't sure he, as a doctor, knew about.

It wasn't until McCoy's hips began to writhe against the bed that Jim took him in full. He went down on him hot and wet and hungry, and McCoy gasped as though his chest had split open. "Dammit, Jim. Yeah. Ohh, yeah."

He swore he felt Jim smile.

Jim kept an even tempo, working him up and down, and McCoy floundered in how good it was. He needed something to grip—his hands tugged at the sheets, he braced upturned palms to the wall. Then Jim deep throated him, McCoy shoved his hands beneath the covers and clamped one to Jim's shoulder, the other against the back of his head, wanting both to push him back and lock him in place to fuck his mouth until he came down his throat. He didn't do either. Jim let up when he needed to, both of them panting.

It was hot under the covers. Hot from Jim's breath. Hot from McCoy's body heat. Hot from the friction. Hot because Jim was hot. He pumped McCoy's dick with his hand in combination with long pulls with his mouth, and hummed when McCoy told him he liked it like that.

Sooner than he wanted, but well after he'd thought he'd last, heat coiled low in his belly, ready to burst into flame. His warning to Jim stuck in throat, but Jim took his first shot in his mouth and swallowed it down no problem, switching quickly to his hand and climbing up out of the covers to kiss McCoy fierce and deep. Jim was sweaty and salty, and he let McCoy's come slick his hand, giving a few last loose pulls as McCoy rode out the rest of his climax.

McCoy woke up feeling like liquid. His neck and back and arms and abs and legs were warm soup instead of muscle, and he was clean and dry. The last thing he remembered was his body tightening with intense satisfaction under Jim. Now Jim was sitting on top of the covers, hair disheveled and looking pretty tense himself.

"Hey."

Jim startled. "Hey. Welcome back." He smiled easy and stood.

McCoy rolled up on his side and his brow pinched when he saw Jim had his boots back on. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Though I'd let you sleep." Jim's shrug was as easy as his smile. He stepped away, but McCoy snatched his wrist and stopped him. Jim looked back at him, confused.

This still wasn't something McCoy wanted to get all talky about, but he wasn't going to send the kid packing, either. A Southern gentleman didn't take tricks then turn them out cold. He shook his head.

"Whatever this is, it's not that. Get your boots off and get in here." He tugged Jim back down to the edge of the bed.

Jim gave a puzzled laugh. "What're you doing?"

McCoy let go of Jim's wrist and scooted over while Jim kicked his boots off. "Keeping tensions low. Upholding diplomacy. Returning the favor. Whatever the hell you want to call it," he grumbled, taking some pleasure in seeing Jim's eyebrows creep up his forehead. In seconds McCoy had Jim pinned and straddled beneath the still-warm covers. "Now shut up and let me show you my manners."

  



End file.
